


Les Jeux Sont Fait

by Soul_in_the_Starlight



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/Soul_in_the_Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the chips are down, and the expert player is nowhere to be found, a substitute must come to the table...</p><p>(The card game references are entirely metaphorical, no lengthy expositions of Baccarat here!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based around the Daniel Craig era James Bond movies.

 

 

 

M had always entertained the absurd notion that her Chief of Staff never went home, and in fact slept in the iconic MI6 building. He was there ahead of her arrival each morning, and never left before she did. Whenever a crisis happened that demanded out of hours attention, he was already organising the appropriate staff and alerting her to the details, his only concession to it being outside of working hours being the absence of his jacket and tie, and an unbuttoned shirt collar. Bill Tanner was supremely efficient, unswervingly loyal, and commanded a respect from the agents that made M secretly proud, although she guessed that since he wore his experience on his young face, that they, as well as she, forgot that his looks and manners belied his actual age.  
  
She sat at her desk at home, the laptop open, her chin resting on her hands as she watched the video that Q was now streaming to her, her face set with grim determination. The death of an agent was always hard to bear, even though it was an occupational hazard, but it was all the more grim for being filmed and sent to his superiors as a stark message that his captors meant business. The shot rang out and she immediately closed the window in which the video has been playing, before Double-O Three's body had even hit the ground, glad she was watching alone so that no-one could hear the string of expletives and curses that fell from her lips.  
  
Their only link at present, was a woman who had been a part of the organisation, who had now defected, asking for asylum and protection in return for information. She had requested that Bond be assigned to her personally, as her protector, and also as the go-between to would pass back her information. M had been wary of the girl's request, but at this point, they had little choice. Today it was an agent who had died, tomorrow, it could be innocents.  
  
"Is Bond in position?" asked M, tersely, not ready to lose another agent so soon.  
  
"He hasn't checked in.... yet," answered Q, his voice carrying the tone of someone who was trying to infuse some optimism, where perhaps there was none to be found.  
  
"Well where the bloody hell is he? We can't afford to let this go, the girl has already landed at London City, it's not going to take her forever to get to the Corinthia. If Bond isn't there to greet her, she's going to disappear."  
  
"I've tried to establish contact, Ma'am, but he's not responding..."  
  
"Well try again!" snapped M, feeling the tension start to tighten her shoulders.  
  
Another voice joined the conversation, the voice of calm and ruthless efficiency.  
  
"We need to pull in another agent, get them up to speed, send them in Bond's place. She's going by his reputation, but she's never seen him, she won't know the difference." Tanner had already had Q compress and encrypt the necessary files so they could be emailed to Bond's replacement as soon as M gave the word.  
  
"Where is Double-O Seven?" M wasn't ready to lose another man tonight.  
  
The tone of the question made Tanner's stomach lurch, knowing that she was not going to like the answer.  
  
"We don't know."  
  
Tanner braced himself for the recriminations, but instead there was brooding silence for a minute before M voiced her decision.  
  
"There's no time to get anyone else in. We can't lose this lead. Right now, we have a skittish informant about to arrive at a five star Whitehall hotel, looking for Bond, and he's not going to be there to meet her."  
  
"His comms might be down," offered Q sheepishly. But even he knew that Bond would have found another way to get in contact, he had a mobile phone and the hotel had landlines and WiFi, there was no excuse for him not being in touch, unless he was somehow compromised.  
  
"Tanner, get Q to fit you with wireless comms, you leave for the Corinthia in ten minutes."  
  
"I'm sorry, did you just say you want _me_  to go in Bond's place?" The incredulity in his voice actually made M smile through the grimness of the situation.  
  
"There's no time to get anyone else up to speed or in position quickly enough. You know all there is to know about this, and you know Bond as well as he knows himself, possibly even better. You said yourself, she's never seen him."  
  
M could tell from background noise that Tanner was now wirelessly fitted and pulling on his jacket and tie as he walked to the lift.  
  
"But what if she..." his voiced faltered, and M allowed herself a small grin, as she knew exactly what had just occurred to him. She stayed silent, forcing him to continue.  
  
"What if she expects me to live up to Bond's... _reputation_?" M could perfectly imagine the wide-eyed horror crossing his face.  
  
"Well then, you'd better not disappoint her."  
  
  
  
The Northall was crowded, and Tanner chose a serendipitously vacant pair of seats at the central marble-topped bar, on a corner that faced the doorway without being right in front of it. He ordered himself a glass of Scotch for Dutch courage, and settled on the plush stool to wait, defending the one next to him with a strategically placed foot, and the story that he was waiting for his wife when anyone approached to ask if it was free.  
  
He was early, but that was no bad thing, it gave him a chance to familiarise himself with his surroundings, and get a handle on his nerves. Fieldwork wasn't his forte, he was the planner, the executioner of these elaborate charades, not the stooge who got sent in to act them out. He prayed that his meeting with Rosalinde Hall was going to end without any complication; his orders were to meet her, buy her a drink, butter her up a bit then escort her to her room, where he was to get down the information she was offering, and then remain with her all night to protect her while her information was checked out. If what she was offering was legitimate and useful, then she would be taken into protective custody until the whole sorry business was over. If she was lying...  
  
Tanner took another slug of whiskey and tried not to think about the consequences for Miss Hall if she was lying. He also didn't want to think about the consequences if she expected the kind of protection that Bond no doubt would provide. He patted a small pouch in his breast pocket, and ordered another drink.  
  
M and Q had stayed silent, to allow Tanner to get used to his current role without idle chatter worrying him. But they talked to each other on a separate frequency.  
  
"Do you think he'll be OK?" asked M, too tired to worry about letting her guard down and revealing her concern for her Chief of Staff.  
  
"He'll be fine, Ma'am. I provided him with some medication, in case he gets in to difficulty."  
  
M put down the ill-advised late night cup of strong coffee she had wandered in to the kitchen to make, and faced the comms console on the far wall.  
  
"Good _heavens_ , man, I think cyanide pills are a little over the top, don't you? The worst than can happen is she realises he's not Bond, gets spooked and runs away!"  
  
Q chuckled softly into the microphone.  
  
"I beg your pardon, Ma'am, I thought you meant... Mr Tanner's parting _concern_..."  
  
M took a mouthful of coffee, and swallowed.  
  
"Q, what have you given him?" Her eyes narrowed.  
  
"He has two different types. Miss Hall won't be quite so...  _demanding_ , if she has trouble keeping her eyes open. It's fast acting, she'll be asleep before she hits the bed."  
  
M raised an eyebrow.  
  
"And the other?"  
  
Q ran his tongue over his lips as he carefully chose his words.  
  
"If Mr Tanner changes his mind, then he'll find himself able to keep his _attention_  focused adequately, for as long as is necessary."  
  
M snorted.  
  
"Have you seen the files? Miss Hall is quite the beauty. I think the only pills Tanner requires are the kind that can rid him of the inevitable, creeping sense of guilt."  
  
Q smiled to himself.  
  
" _Those_  aren't quite ready for human testing."  
  
  
  
Tanner checked his watch, it was a little past 10.30pm, and Rosalinde Hall would be arriving any minute, given the time it would have taken her to get through airport security and get a taxi the seven-odd miles from the airport to the Corinthia Hotel. He was still nursing his second drink, keeping a close eye on the door. M and Q were still silent, and he wished they'd say something, he was starting to feel very alone in the crowded bar.  
  
"Mr Bond?"  
  
The soft voice came from just to the side of him, and Tanner looked round, hoping he didn't look as unnerved as he felt. Rosalinde Hall stood next to him, smiling, her smooth, curved features and blonde hair making him think of a young Lauren Bacall. He tried to focus on his role and smiled at her as he stood from his stool and politely offered her the one next to him, on to which she gracefully settled.  
  
"How did you recognise me?" asked Tanner, hoping to feign nonchalance rather than appear openly wary. Rosalinde smiled.  
  
"It was obvious, Mr Bond," she replied, in the crisp, perfect English of someone for whom it is a second language, her accent cut with a trace of Continental European.  
  
"I don't know what you mean," Tanner gestured to the bar tender, trying to will Q and M back into the conversation, he knew they were listening, but their silence was now playing on his mind.  
  
Rosalinde laughed, genuinely amused.  
  
"Mr Bond, everyone else here is either having a business meeting, an illicit assignation, or celebrating an underhand deal. You sit here alone at the bar, looking like you would rather be anywhere else. So I think to myself, this must be the great James Bond, the finest the British Government has to offer, because only a man with a taste for adventure would look so uncomfortable in this den of rich fools."  
  
Tanner laughed, feeling the tension slid from him with the realisation that she was absolutely no judge of character, and couldn't be more wrong about him. The bar tender came over, finally, and Rosalinde ordered a glass of white wine.  
  
"May I call you James? If we are going to spend the night together, it would be less awkward." She brought the wine glass to her lips, smiling around it, and Tanner allowed his eyes to briefly wander, taking in the simple, black, cap-sleeved crepe dress, which clung to her silhouette rather pleasingly, and which she accented with nothing more gaudy than a thin gold chain at her throat, and a small gold scrollwork brooch on the dress itself. He began to wonder just how much of Bond's reputation he could pass off.  
  
"Yes, of course, call me James."  
  
"Then you may call me Rosie."  
  
Tanner held out his glass and they clinked a toast to first name terms, his nerves all but vanished. Rosie set her glass down and ran the tip of her middle finger around the rim, slowly and teasingly sliding it down around the bowl of the glass until she had the stem grasped gently between her thumb and finger. She rubbed it up and down with deliberate precision, and turned towards him. Tanner swallowed and fidgeted in his seat.  
  
"Are you tired James?" she asked continuing to caress the stem of the wine glass.  
  
"Not especially, but if you're feeling a bit jet-lagged, we can talk in the morning, rather than tonight."  
  
Rosie laughed. "Oh no, James, I'm feeling _very_  awake. That is why talking in the _morning_  would be an excellent idea."  
  
She took another sip of her wine, and then slid down from her bar stool, taking a step towards Tanner and slipping her arm around his neck. She leaned in close, and he felt her warm breath on his ear lobe as she whispered: " _Take me to bed, James_."  
  
Tanner heard a man sniggering, and realised that Q was back from radio silence.  
  
"Don't forget to take your medicine, Sir."  
  
"That's quite enough frivolity," snapped M, trying to sound cross.  
  
Tanner tried to channel his inner Bond, and slid his arm around Rosie's waist. "Now that's the first sensible suggestion I've heard all evening," he said, which was rewarded with her other arm encircling his neck, and her lips pressing light kisses along his jaw line.  
  
Ordinarily, Bill Tanner would have been suitably disapproving of this kind of public display of sexuality, but Rosie Hall paid no heed to the packed bar, and he found that for once, being on the receiving end of such a display, he didn't give a damn either. His other arm went to her waist and pulled her closer, eliciting a hum of approval from Rosie who, now dismissed his jaw and turned her attention to his lips.  
  
Tanner was just starting to realise that one of the medications Q had given him would likely be entirely unnecessary, and opened his eyes, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable in the crowded room. One of Rosie's arms slid down from around his neck, making it's way to his lap as her unrelenting lips continued on his, but to Tanner's horror, he realised that they were indeed under scrutiny.  
  
Directly across the bar from where Tanner sat, and watching the affectionate Rosie go to work on him, with a shit-eating grin and a raised glass of Scotch, sat a very bemused James Bond.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry," said Bond, finally breaking the awkward silence on the journey back to MI6. Tanner stared straight ahead, his face unreadable.  
  
"It had to go down like that, I had a hunch, and it turned out to be right." He turned to face Tanner, the pair of them sat like inscrutable bookends in the back of the car.  
  
"M doesn't appreciate being made a fool of, being kept in the dark," hissed Tanner, at last turning to face James and fixing him with an accusing gaze, made all the sharper with his blue eyes.  
  
James let a smile unfurl across his world-worn face. It was just like Bill to put his concern for M's humiliation above his own.  
  
"Bill, _please_ , I had no choice." James reached across and put a consolatory hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing it coaxingly, rubbing his thumb in small circles.  
  
Bill turned to look at his hand, and then finally up at Bond, and a grin erupted.  
  
"You won't get around  _me_  with your irresistible charms, James," he exclaimed, with mock seriousness.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of trying, old man."  
  
Bill turned to look out of the window again.  
  
"You could have trusted _me_ , James, I'm disappointed that you didn't think you could."  
  
James looked serious for a moment.  
  
"Don't think that it didn't eat me up inside that I had to leave you out. All of you. But I had to make a decision, a very tough decision, but a decision that paid off. The girl is safe, we have more information from her than we could have hoped for, and Double-O Three is  _still alive_. We can take these bastards down."  
  
Tanner watched the early morning streets begin to come to life as they inched through the streets, beset with cyclists and joggers and delivery trucks.  
  
"How did you know she'd double-cross us," asked Bill. James smiled wryly before answering.  
  
"Too easy, the whole set up. Everyone was edgy, everyone snapped at the bait too soon. M was right to be wary, but she thought the stakes were too high to back down. I just headed on over to the rendezvous a little ahead of schedule and took care of Rosie's travelling companions.  
  
"But why didn't you just meet her afterwards? Why get me involved?"  
  
"She'd already seen me despatch her companions. I couldn't let her know she'd been compromised. I wasn't expecting M to send you down! I thought she'd pull in another agent."  
  
Tanner turned back to Bond, and raised his eyebrows.  
  
"There wasn't time, it was too close to the time set for rendezvous."  
  
James frowned and checked his watch, then checked the digital clock on the dashboard of their car.  
  
"Son of a bitch, it's an hour slow!"  
  
"Really, James?" questioned Tanner with narrowed eyes. James shrugged sheepishly.  
  
"You have some lipstick on your collar," he replied, reaching over to Bill's neck. His friend batted his hand away with a grin.  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
James smiled, feeling oddly pleased with himself.  
  
"So how did you persuade her to tell us everything, Bill? She left nothing out, even told us stuff we hadn't asked for. In the old vernacular, Miss Hall sang like the proverbial canary."  
  
The car turned in to the underground car park at MI6, and Tanner pulled his tie out of his jacket pocket and turned up his collar, drawing the tie around his neck.  
  
"I couldn't possibly reveal my methods, James, it's classified."  
  
Bond was now the one looking at his friend through narrowed eyes.  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
Tanner finished fastening his tie and smoothed his collar back down. It was free from lipstick.  
  
"Let's just say, you're not the _only_ one with irresistible charms."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to call their bluff...

Bond walked to the lift, where he found the Chief of Staff waiting for it, grim-faced and perspiring slightly, his top shirt button undone and his tie loosened a little. Bond surmised that Tanner had undergone the same gruelling debriefing as he had over the Rosalinde Hall debacle, despite the outcome being better than they had even hoped for, in Tanner's apparently talented hands.

Tanner managed a thin smile when he saw Bond.

"Four bloody hours, James. Less of a debriefing, more of a full-scale bloody interrogation."

The Chief of Staff impatiently poked the lift call button, muttering unintelligible curses under his breath at it's tardy arrival.

"She was certainly thorough. What say you we slide off for a post-mortem drink?" Bond leaned across and gently pressed the lift button, and with a soft sigh, the machinery delivered their means to escape, the doors sliding open.

Bond ignored the accusatory look Tanner levelled at him as they stepped in, and pressed the button for the ground floor.

"She wouldn't even let me go home to change, I had to sit in the office filing the report, hoping to God no-one noticed I was wearing the same shirt and tie." Tanner fiddled with his shirt collar. James grinned at his friend's obvious discomfort.

"I'd have been more worried about them noticing the smell of ladies's deodorant," he jibed, rewarded with a look of horror spreading over Tanner's face.

"Oh Jesus, I don't, do I?" Bill unbuttoned his jacket, raising his arm to sniff beneath it. James stifled a chuckle. 

"Well at least it proves you showered, better than facing M reeking of sweat and sex."

Bill refastened his jacket and turned to face James.

"Can you not? I really don't want to think about... that."

"Think about what? Facing M smelling of it, or how you came by it?"

"James...  _please_."

Bond noted the genuine distress in his friend's eyes, and reached out to clasp his shoulder.

"No-one has to know. You have my word."

The lift reached the ground floor, the doors parting to allow them out.

" _I'll_ know" replied Bill as they stepped out in to the front lobby, "it's there in my head."

They walked silently to the door, the late afternoon sun bright as they walked out into the street. James suddenly stopped and caught hold of Bill's arm.

"Did you actually fuck her?" he asked in a low voice, aware of the bustling commuters passing by them. Tanner pulled away from his grip.

"You're the worst, sometimes, Bond... I'm not even going to dignify that comment with an answer."

Bond shrugged and turned away starting to walk in a different direction. Tanner stood for a few seconds, puzzled at Bond's reaction, then ran the few paces to catch up with him.

"You need a drink, Bill. A big stiff one. No pun intended." James held up his hand to hail a passing taxi. Bill narrowed his eyes at him again, not only did James have the uncanny ability to summon stubborn lifts, but he now had the power to procure in empty cabs during rush hour. Tanner sulkily clambered into the waiting car behind Bond.

James had told the driver their destination before Bill got in, so he had no idea where they were going, and he found he didn't care. All he wanted to do, suddenly, was get blind drunk and wake up with a horrific hangover, rather than the nagging guilt he still felt. Bond always seemed so unfazed by his own sexual indiscretions, seemingly happy to use his penis as a weapon for Queen and country.

Tanner envied him.

"You get used to it," offered James, breaking the awkward silence that had pervaded the back seat of the cab.

"Please don't presume to tell me what I'll get used to, James, not when it's your fault it happened."

James looked across at Bill, finding his friend sitting stiffly, looking morose. He turned back, and looked out of the window at the passing traffic, wondering who was more damaged, Tanner for beating himself up over a one night stand in the line of duty, or himself for not understanding why.

The rush hour had eased off considerably, they'd caught the tail end of it, and the journey passed quickly for the two men as they slipped into their respective contemplations of the previous night's events, the occasional heavy sigh of regret punctuating the quiet from Tanner's side of the car.

"Just here, please," Bond leant forward and tapped on the window behind the driver, rousing Bill from his reverie. He looked up to see that they were in the street below Bond's flat. James got out of the taxi, followed by Bill, who looked up at the building as Bond paid the driver.

"I thought we were going for a drink," remarked Bill as the taxi pulled away.

"We are," answered James as he trotted up the steps to the entrance, fishing out a key from inside his jacket pocket.

"But this is your flat," noted his friend as they entered the lobby, stating the obvious. James smiled as he called the lift down to meet them.

"Are you doubting that I keep a well-stocked liquor cabinet, Bill?" 

"No, I just... I don't know James, I just want to crash out and forget this whole sorry business."

James turned to face Bill as the lift doors opened.

"Did you fuck her?" he asked a second time, awaiting the same indignant look as he had been given outside MI6.

"I need that drink," came the answer, and Bill stepped past him into the lift, his back pressed into a far corner as he waited for James to select the floor. Bond waited for the doors to close, but didn't press the button. He stood facing the panel, his finger hovering near the floor number he required."You weren't so maudlin this morning, when we left the hotel. What happened in with M?"

He heard Bill exhale behind him, thinking through his answer.

"Look, I'd rather not talk about it, it was... I just need that drink."

James' mouth twitched at one corner, and he pressed the button, the lift rising after an initial jolt.

He turned round to face his friend, closing the gap across the thickly carpeted floor until they stood inches apart. Bill could feel Bond's eyes upon him and saw how his friend's gaze roved over him, taking in his appearance.

"I'm just not that kind of girl, James," joked Tanner, weakly, trying to diffuse the suddenly awkward tension in the confined space.

"Maybe you are, and you just don't know it yet," countered James, regarding Bill with a predatory grin that his friend thought he surely must have misread.

"I don't think you're allowed to say things like that," Bill forced a good-natured grin on to his face, feeling his cheeks flush under Bond's sudden intense gaze.

"I never was one for following the rules," James reached out and placed his left hand on the side of the lift above Bill's left shoulder. He leaned in closer and Bill swallowed, pressing himself back further in to the corner. James' lips stopped just short of Bill's right ear. He whispered to him, the low rumble of his voice reverberating against Tanner's cheek.

" _There's a love bite on your neck, it shows just above your collar. There's a trace of lipstick in your hairline, near your left eyebrow. And your hand was shaking when you pressed the lift button, muscles no doubt tired from supporting your body weight for longer than perhaps you're used to_ ," Bond's right hand suddenly delved into the breast pocket of Bill's jacket, pulling out the small packet of pills, which was still unopened. He held it up so Tanner could see it.

"You weren't the only one with irresistible charms, I see."

Bill's face flushed a deep scarlet, and he suddenly felt trapped in the tiny space, with James blocking his exit.

"James, please... don't..."

"I think what we have here, boys and girls, is a good old-fashioned dose of Catholic guilt," pronounced Bond, taking a step back, but still blocking Tanner's retreat as the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. The inviting expanse of corridor outside was mockingly out of reach, as James suddenly closed the gap between them again and, after tucking Q's pills back in to their pocket, slipped his hand inside Bill's jacket, pushing his tie aside.

"There is one, no wait..." James grabbed a fistful of Tanner's shirt and yanked it out of the waistband of his trousers, "...make that  _two_  missing buttons. Someone was eager to please, which begs the question: was it her or was it you?"

The lift doors slid shut on them again, and Tanner wondered if he'd ever get out of this uncomfortable situation. He would, but not before James leaned in swiftly and pressed his mouth against Bill's, hearing his friend's exclamation of protest give way to a groan of acceptance behind their lips.

James pulled back, slowly, seeing the now widened black pupils darkening Bill's blue eyes.

"You let her use you. That's why you feel so guilty. My Chief of Staff capitulated to the girl."

James stepped back properly this time, allowing Bill to push past him and press the button to open the doors. He all but fell out of the lift, and by the time James had nonchalantly strolled out after him, Tanner was slumped against the wall outside the door to Bond's flat, breathing heavily.

Bond strode over and patted him on the back. 

"Your secret's safe with me, old man. Shall we go in and get that drink now?"

Tanner nodded enthusiastically. James unlocked the door to his flat and stood back to let Bill enter first. As soon as they were inside and the door was closed behind them, Bill turned and pushed James roughly against the door, pressing his lips against Bond's, his hands pinning James against the door.

The kiss was rough and breathless, and when their lips parted, James looked smug, if a little surprised. Bill looked weirdly pleased with himself, and kept James pinned in front of him.

"Re-exerting your authority, Sir?" asked Bond, arching a brow at Tanner, who's eyes betrayed his sudden desire for the man he had trapped.

"Oh do shut up, Double-O Seven," ordered the Chief of Staff, leaning in towards Bond, having decided on thoroughly misusing government assets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend in need...

Bond smiled down at the sleeping figure of his Chief of Staff in the King size bed as he returned from the bathroom, and climbed carefully back in beside him. Bill stirred and turned over on to his back, the creeping light of dawn falling on to his face through the still drawn blinds. He lifted an arm and dropped it over his eyes to block out the intruding photons, and James leaned across and kissed his elbow.

"Ow, my head," groaned Bill, bringing his other arm across his face as well, "how much did we drink last night?"

"Enough to not care about ruining our friendship with sex, but not too much that we ruined the sex with our friendship."

Bill attempted a laugh than turned into a moan, as the movement of his ribs rudely sent pain signals to his head.

"You're incorrigible, James, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Frequently," replied James, "you tell me on a daily basis. So are you going to have to sleep with Q now, to assuage your guilt over sleeping with me?"

Bill half-heartedly whacked James with his nearest arm.

"I don't make a habit of sleeping with men."

"Or women, apparently," observed James, still curious as to Bill's overreaction to spending the night with Rosie. Bill braved removing his arms from his face, and shifted in the bed so he could look at James.

"I was brought up to treat women with respect, not treat them as perks of the job. Even in the army, I didn't screw my way through the local womenfolk like the rest of them. If nothing else, I was too worried about catching something."

"Party pooper," said James, with a smile, and leaned across to study Bill's bare chest.

"She really did a number on you, you look like you went ten rounds with a Pitbull."

Bill lifted the covers and looked down at his naked body, which was covered in the reddish-purple blotches of love-bites, and the fading crimson stripes of fingernail scratches. He dropped the covers and looked back at James.

"She was like a thing possessed. She really got off on the idea of being the aggressor, of making the great James Bond compliant to her sexual whims."

James grinned and threw back the covers, pointing to the bite marks on his inner thighs. "You two have a lot in common then."

Even in the half-light of the bedroom, he could see Bill's face reddening.

"Oh God, was that me?"

"Well it certainly wasn't M," replied Bond, sitting up and reaching for his robe which was thrown across the end of the bed.

"Well I don't know, she looks like the sort who's bite might be worse than her bark."

James stood up, his toned, muscular body silhouetted against the window as he slipped the robe over it.

"Think about her bite often, do you?" he asked, walking round the bed towards the door.

"Good lord, no! But you've got to admit, getting to that position in the service, she had to have bust some balls along the way."

"Well just make sure she doesn't bust yours," replied James with a wink, and took a spare robe off the hook on the back of the bedroom door, throwing it to Bill.

"Let's have some breakfast, or hair of the dog, whatever your stomach and head can manage." He went out into the hallway of his flat, towards the kitchen, and Bill carefully sat up, wincing at the pain of his hangover and his abused body, sure that some of the bruises had been acquired last night.

When he finally made it to the kitchen, after a visit to the bathroom and a slow, careful walk, the very state of being upright inducing slight waves of nausea, he found Bond had a large pot of coffee percolating, and a rack of toast waiting on the breakfast bar, with dishes of butter, jam and marmalade set neatly beside it. A tall jug of orange juice sat on another tray, next to a carafe of cold water, both of them running with beads of condensation from their chilled contents.

The coolness of the smooth floor tiles against his bare feet was oddly exhilarating, and Bill stood for a few seconds feeling a child-like satisfaction as his body heat gradually warmed the tiles beneath them.

"Help yourself, there's some Bourbon on the side if you want a chaser."

Bill walked over to the worktop and poured himself a glass of juice.

"No thanks, I probably drank a week's worth last night."

"It's OK, I'm not trying to get you drunk so I can have my way with you, it's a little late for that."

"I thought I was the one having my way with you?" replied Bill with mock petulance. James grinned at him. "That was the first couple of times."

"James..." Bill looked at him almost coyly as he attempted to hide his blushing behind the glass of orange juice.

The coffee was now ready and James poured Bill a huge mug of it without even asking, dumping two heaped spoonfuls of sugar in it. He stirred it and placed it on the breakfast bar in front of Bill.

"Did you enjoy it?" asked James, plucking a triangle of toast from the rack and smearing it thickly with butter and jam.

"Enjoy what?" asked Bill, his brain still slightly too dehydrated to pick up random threads of conversation.

"Your night with Rosie. You seemed quite smug on the way back to headquarters, what changed, did M reprimand you?"

Bill picked up his coffee, he normally took it white, but decided that James probably had more experience of it's restorative properties in it's natural form.

"No...I mean yes, I suppose I did enjoy it, I mean you saw her, I'd be a fool not to have. Even if if she _was_  screaming  _your_  name."

Bond's eyebrows lifted, and he put down his toast.

"A screamer, eh? You sly dog! You've been holding out on us, I might need to take some notes on your techniques." James picked up his toast and took a huge bite, licking the crumbs from his lips. Bill intently watched James' tongue sweep across his strong mouth.

"Well, I don't know how much of it was down to me, and how much of it was down to her thinking I was you."

James finished his mouthful and moved closer to Bill, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, gently kneading the bruised flesh beneath the silk robe.

"Well I certainly found your methods very effective," he offered, leaning in to drop a light kiss on Bill's neck.

" _M made me tell her everything_ ," whispered Bill, while Bond's face was close to his. Their eyes met, faces inches apart, Bond's breath warm on Bill's cheeks.

"And I mean  _everything_. From what positions, to how many times, whether I actually... and if I thought  _she_  was faking... It stopped being a fun night of debauchery, started being a catalogue of regrets. It was all so..."

"Routine, old man, it was all so  _routine_. Not so great being on the receiving end, is it? Having your sexual exploits dissected and catalogued, filed away on record forever."

James leaned in and kissed Bill softly on the lips, sliding his tongue against the Chief of Staff's, leaving him with the taste of butter and wild strawberries.

"Get married, Bill," said James, when they eventually and reluctantly parted. "Find yourself a nice girl, settle down and have a few kids. It's what you should have done years ago."

Bill shook his head. "I can't, what about-"

"M will cope," said Bond sternly, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Bill smiled at his friend sadly. "When do I have the time to go out and meet girls? And the ones at HQ only have eyes for the agents."

"We'll make time. It's the bloody weekend! We'll go out tonight, I'll be your wingman."

Bill took a sip of his coffee, contemplating the dark depths of the mug. "Yes, and you'll get all the action. Muggins here will get stuck with the plain friend."

"Nonsense!" said Bond, taking the mug from Bill's hand, and setting it back on the worktop. He took Bill's hand and started to lead him from the kitchen.

"Where are we going? I still have a hangover."

"Back to bed," said James impishly, dropping behind Bill and slapping him on the arse.

"You're going to remind me why I'll be telling those girls you're an absolute  _beast_  in the bedroom."

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Monday morning was dull and overcast, and Bond cursed the light drizzle that blew in his face and settled on the shoulders of his jacket as he walked into MI6 Headquarters.

There were no secrets in the new internal layout, glass walls everywhere made illicit activities impossible, there was no longer the chance to discreetly pinch the tempting buttocks of the secretaries, or have indiscreet wagers regarding the same girls with fellow agents. Passing through to the agents' office, Bond saw that Tanner was already at his desk, busy typing, speaking to some disembodied voice on the other end of his headset. James felt a twinge of envy, Bill hadn't contacted him at all over the weekend, and for reasons unknown had neglected to answer his phone. They hadn't parted on bad terms, so James could only fathom that his friend had been thoroughly pre-occupied.

The world was at a reasonable peace since Rosalinde Hall had given up her information to the Secret Intelligence Service. Bond had played his part, or rather had improvised it, and now it was back to the dullness of desktop espionage, and he eyed the pile of files on his desk with disdain. He dropped himself in to the waiting chair, and switched on the computer on his desk, ignoring any email that hadn't been sent within the last seventy-two hours.

At the top of his inbox was an email from Bill, with no subject header. It had been sent from his MI6 address about an hour before Bond had arrived, so whatever had kept Bill busy over the weekend hadn't distracted him from his ruthless punctuality. Bond smiled to himself as he clicked on the message.

_Sorry._

_Didn't mean to be incommunicado, talk over lunch if you're free?_

_Bill_

James clicked on the reply button, drumming his fingers on the desk in front of the keyboard as he turned over possible replies in his head.

_Understandable._

_Lunch sounds good. You can show me your latest battle scars._

_J_

Bond sent the email, which, like Tanner's had been relatively innocuous, given that all internal communications were monitored. He counted to ten, and picked up the phone call he had been expecting, the minute it began to ring.

"Just so you know, Double-O Seven, that last request will, unfortunately, have to be denied."

Bond's lips twitched, as he tried to keep the determined grin out of his voice.

"That's a pity, Sir, may I ask the reason why?"

He could practically hear Tanner's thoughts whirring as they concocted a suitable excuse.

"Need to know basis, we'll go over the fine print at lunch. Twelve-thirty sharp, meet you in the lobby.

The line went dead. Bond allowed his grin to unfurl across his face.

 

They'd met as arranged and made their way to a restaurant nearby frequented often by MI6 personnel due to it's close proximity to headquarters. Tanner's secretary had booked them in, and they had enjoyed a light lunch of grilled salmon, having both agreed on the same dish to speed up the order. James hadn't brought up the subject of the weekend, for which Tanner seemed grateful, and he had spoken animatedly about the notion of them spending a weekend away together playing golf while things were relatively quiet. Golfing weekends were not unusual for the two friends, so Bond had agreed, pleased that their friendship hadn't suffered for spilling over into something more intimate.

They decided to forgo dessert and settled for coffee instead, and it was whilst waiting for the richly fragrant beverage to cool that Tanner's face became suddenly serious.

"I owe you an apology, my gratitude, and an explanation, James." He toyed absent-mindedly with the spoon that rested in the mound of rough, golden sugar crystals left in a delicate porcelain dish in the centre of the table.

"That's quite the I.O.U., Bill," answered Bond, leaning nonchalantly back on his chair, making whirlpools in the dark, sepia depths of his coffee cup with the tiny gold-plated spoon.

Tanner smiled at him sheepishly.

"OK, well let's be chronological. First of all, thank you for giving me the benefit of your sartorial expertise, no doubt if I'd gone out in an outfit of my own choice, I wouldn't have cut quite so interesting a figure, P.R. campaign or not."

He looked up coyly at Bond from under his brows, and Bond marvelled that the professional confidence of his no-nonsense, hyper-efficient Chief-of-Staff could unravel so readily in his private life. All Bond had done was accompany Bill back to his flat and suggest a wardrobe choice that was less government official on down-time, and more suave businessman seeking company during a well-earned rest. The 'P.R. campaign' had been nothing more than Bond being the bait which reeled in the attractive fish, and then alluding to his modest friend hiding certain desirable lights under a bushel.

"You're welcome, although I think you're selling yourself short. Quite  _literally_." Bond raised his eyebrows as his gaze dropped towards Tanner's lap. His friend's cheeks flushed slightly, and he picked up the hot cup of coffee to divert attention from them.

"James, please, not here." Bill didn't look round, but James knew he was referring to the possible presence of other MI6 personnel present in the busy room. He was careful to keep the hurt out of both his face and his voice.

"Is that regret talking?" asked James, lifting the coffee cup and gazing at Bill intently over the top of it.

"God no! Don't ever think that, it's just... " Bill trailed off and set down his cup, wrestling with the words before continuing. "Golfing weekends are one thing, no-one bats an eye," he spoke quietly, his expression guarded. James smiled.

"I get it. Keep it professional when walls have ears."

Bill seemed visibly relieved.

"That's two apologies I owe you now. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by ignoring your calls, I was just... caught up in the moment."

James grinned at his friend's apologetic expression. "I didn't realise  _moments_  could last for forty-eight hours. But apology accepted, I'm just glad that it wasn't anything I might have said. Or done." he grinned at Bill wickedly, pushing his comfort zone in the busy restaurant, but this time Bill met Bond's gaze with a smug smile of his own.

"I think it's allowable to say that your actions were commendable, and also rather enlightening."

"Indeed," agreed James, thinking back to the surprisingly empassioned hours they had spent together in his bed.

They both took the natural breaking conversation to drink more of their coffees, before James continued.

"If the second apology is for earlier, then it's unnecessary, but accepted. So that just leaves us with the explanation outstanding."

Bill's fingers left his cup and resumed toying with the sugar crystals. He hardly needed to remind James of the spectacle they'd provided when, apparently envious of Bill's sudden allure to an assembled gathering of a half dozen young women who were vying for his sole attention, Bond had muscled in and kissed him rather thoroughly in front of them. The entourage had dispersed indignantly, save for one, who, instead of fleeing with hubris, had remained behind to witness the scene. When James had released Bill, they had found her wide-eyed and open-mouthed, looking every bit as though all her Christmases had come at once.

"I did explain to her, after you'd gone, but I don't think she was convinced. She wanted me turn off my phone, so you wouldn't call. Of course I couldn't, so I just put it on silent. And then when I did get the chance to check..." Bill ended the sentence with a shrug, and James laughed, heartily, much to Bill's surprise.

They had taken the open-minded, and shamelessly eager young woman back to Bill's flat, her having made her enthusiasm for a threesome with them abundantly clear. But when she had begun to undress Tanner, and saw the scratches and bruises all over him, she had slapped Bond round the face and gone in to a blind rage, screaming at him and manhandling him out of the flat, which in shocked amusement, he had allowed her to do. She had assumed Bond was responsible for Bill's injuries, that he was an abusive boyfriend, and even when Bill tried to persuade her otherwise, she'd had none of it.

"So what happened after I left? I'm surprised she didn't call the police. M would have loved to have had her weekend interrupted to bail me out over a presumed domestic."

Bill smiled, looking pleased with himself.

"She calmed down eventually, as long as I promised not to talk to you. And then she basically spoiled me. Ran me a bath, put me to bed. She didn't let me lift a finger yesterday. Breakfast in bed, Sunday papers, even cooked us lunch."

"Sounds like a keeper, Bill, I hope you proposed there and then." He smiled warmly at his friend, feeling a twinge of envy again. Not for the girl having diverted Bill's attention, but for Bill enjoying the domesticity. His mind briefly allowed the door to his grief over Vespa to open a fraction, as he thought about what could have been. But then he closed it again firmly, swallowing the look of sadness that threaten to show itself across his face.

Bill leaned forward across the table, conspiratorially and James shifted forward in his seat to meet him.

"There is just one slight problem," admitted Bill in a low voice, and James furrowed his brow.

"Don't tell me, she felt you were too traumatised to make love to, and now she just wants to mother you?"

Bill smirked. "Actually, no, she was rather keen to show me how tender she could be compared to my..." he leaned forward, even closer to James, and whispered, "... _brute of a boyfriend_."

Bond's mouth twitched in amusement. "So what is the problem, then?"

"Well," Bill began, his face suddenly serious, "it seems that I've been sleeping with the enemy."

Bond's eyes widened a little, and he felt his pulse quicken. This was not the news he had been expecting.

"Bill, when you say  _enemy_ , what exactly do you mean?"

Tanner closed his eyes, dropping his head for a moment, shaking it slowly; when he looked up again to meet Bond's worried gaze, his expression was grave.

"She works for MI5."

 

In lieu of the relieved pummelling Bond had been itching to give Bill, for giving him a minor infarction, he instead made him settle their lunch tab. The walk back to headquarters had been good-natured, and Bill had assured James that despite having made arrangements to see the young woman, whose name was Sarah, again, it would not interfere with their planned golf weekend.

As the reached the unmistakeable edifice of their headquarters, Bill pulled James to one side before they went in.

"I actually owe you another thank you," he said, his eyes full of fondness and sincerity. James smiled back at him.

"You don't owe me a thing Bill," he reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and squeezed it affectionately.

"Yes I do. That night at the Corinthia, I thought it was the worst possible thing to happen to me, but now..." Bill suddenly stepped forward and embraced James, not giving a damn who saw it.

"Make it work," said James, holding on to Bill tightly, a feeling that this would be the most intimate they would ever be again, settling heavily upon him. "Give me a reason to keep making those damned foolish judgement calls."

They withdrew from the embrace a little awkwardly, each of them clearing their throats and straightening their jackets and ties. Bill looked at his watch.

"Christ! We'd better get back in, M'll be after us, we've rather indulged."

They walked in to the building and Tanner called down a lift, inwardly smug that it arrived so quickly. The two men stepped in and waited for the doors to close. Bond pressed the button for their destination and they began to ascend.

"Could have turned out so much worse," said James, his face deadpan.

Bill raised his eyebrows quizzically, and James checked one of his cuff links as the lift slowed to a halt. The doors opened and the friends stepped out into the modest, post-lunch bustle of their workplace.

"She could be working for GCHQ."


End file.
